Chapter II: An Artificial World

In the center of the lounge all the scientists were grouped with the captured crew and the I. L. Patrolmen, helplessly hedged in by a barrier of brightly luminous blue-green rays. Professional looking men in simple uniforms were going among them, pointing out one here or there, who was immediately singled out and put in a second, smaller group. Now Markham was marched up, and the entire group efficiently escorted to the communication lock, where a long, flexible tube between the ships permitted them to go from the passenger liner to the space ship without space suits. Twice prisoners rebelled, to be instantly and efficiently paralyzed with a beam from a pistol. In a few seconds the rebellious ones regained consciousness and were able to go on.

The rest of the trip they enjoyed from several small ports. The entire group was penned in a small prison locker with a few guards to watch them. After some six hours of travel, during which the space liner had been left helplessly behind, and the two Patrol cruisers lost in the blackness of space, one of the men in charge came down and gave them a brief lecture on the experiment in which they were soon to take an unwilling part.

It was nearly twenty-four hours later that they finally approached their destination, a tiny, five-mile world of solid metal, a part of the nickel-steel core of some long vanished planet. Its surface turned swiftly beneath them, flashing around in moments as they watched, a surface made up of great crags and clefts of metal, broken, barren masses of metal.

"Lord--it would be impossible to establish a city on the surface of that top!" exclaimed one of the Patrolmen. "The centrifugal spin there would throw anything off into space."

"How about the inside of it then?" asked one of the guards, smiling at him.

"Inside? Is it inside?" asked Markham in alarmed surprise. "Is it always dark?"

The guard laughed and pointed toward a huge cliff of solid metal. "See that--now it's turned by--but that's where we go in. Even from here, what with that fast rotation, you can't see the entrance. See--the ship's going into an orbit about it, picking up to landing speed, trying to move at the same speed as the ground. When the colony was established, the whole interior was carved out with atomic burners--burned the stuff out into gas, and let it escape. The shell's about half a mile thick. Inside, the centrifugal force gives an acceleration just equal to one earth gravity, we're up to speed, and you can see we have about an earth-weight away from it now. And an artificial sun gives plenty of light."

Indeed, as he spoke, they saw the planetoid consistently above them, and now spinning very, very slowly while the heavens gyrated swiftly about. The sun was flashing in and out of the windows in bewildering streaks of light.

Before them the great metal cliff loomed suddenly. Then they saw a huge black gulf under the glare of the spotlights that lighted it during the momentary "nights" of this spinning world.

Into the great tunnel they sank, and the moment they were within it all sense of spin, of rotation, ceased instantly. It seemed they were following some vast tunnel on Earth, where smooth walls of shining metal reflected their spotlights from crystalline metal surfaces.

Far ahead the light was swallowed in blackness. The ship shot straight on, till gradually a curving wall that bent upward appeared, and around the bend the ship sailed. Then a short upward channel and another long level stretch. Light here now, and the spotlights blinked out. The walls were strung with long, thin daylight gas-glow tubes, and far ahead a ring of such tubes surrounded a gigantic metal door, a huge thing that plugged all the great tube.

As they approached, it swung open its sections, lay back along the channel, and closed behind them as the ship came to a halt. Ahead was a similar metal door, and now as the rear door shut there was a terrific shrieking roar as air pounded into the lock, the inner door was opening. Now the tube ahead was ablaze with lights, a short horizontal stretch, then an abrupt rise of several hundred feet--and they had entered their weird artificial world.

In amazed wonder the captives stared out of their ports. Outside the metal ground curved gradually up and away till it arched in a mighty curve far above their heads. The metal here was smooth, obviously fused that the world might be air-tight, free of cracks. Plants, grass, a few trees grew about them, and even above them. And yet there was no more sense of motion here than on Earth, though this world spun far faster.

Directly "above" them was the sun. A huge sphere it was, glowing with the brilliant daylight gas-glow, and beside it was a second great sphere, but glowing with the weird blue-green of mercury vapor.

The rays from this sun were rich in ultra-violet, and they were warming, supplying heat and light to this inner world as does our own sun to the earth.

* * * * *

Streets--metal pavements on which ran swift, stream-lined cars equipped with rubber tires. Planes were unknown here, unmanageable in the tricky air currents and the tricky acceleration effects of centrifugal force. Off to the left of the tunnel entrance was a low, squat building built, as all these buildings of this world, of solid nickel-steel, high grade armour plate. The world itself was a gigantic lump of armour plate.

"Power-house," grunted the patrolman. Its aerials, beam projectors and leads told in an instant what its purpose was. Even now a faint, nearly invisible beam could be seen reaching up through the atmosphere to the artificial sun.

Off to the right, half a mile away, lay a group of buildings; and now the captives were driven toward them. A pair of guards were given the special duty of escorting Mr. Markham to his private room. He was not to be used in the experiments, but held for ransom, and as such was led to the tower rooms, instead of the regular "quarters" as were the others.

Half an hour later Mr. Ezra Markham was complaining volubly. He had been put in a room, a bare metal room, containing only a table, a chair and a bed.

Could he have a pillow-case? He never could sleep without a pillow-case, he had grown so accustomed to one, and it should be silk. And a rug? The metal floor was so cold on his feet. And hot water to shave with? And did they turn out the sun at night? When was night?

The guard on his floor brought the pillow-case, soon discovered his mistake, and ceased to bring other things. The fat and worried Mr. Markham had an insatiable desire for comfort, and had complained bitterly at the tough, linen pillow-slip.

The guard, in self defense, assured him there was a night, that it was two hours distant, it lasted twelve hours, and that the stars could not be seen through half a mile of metal. But, he added, the room lights of the buildings across the world looked like stars.

Then, quite fatigued, he retired permanently to the guard on the floor below, out of range of Mr. Markham's querulous voice.

True to the promise, night closed in with the extinguishing of the "artificial sun."

Mr. Markham had spent the evening gazing out of his narrow, barred window. He was about fifty feet above the ground, and directly beneath his window was a rose bed, growing in imported soil. Beyond that was a path, and then a broad, soft lawn which stretched out some distance to join finally with the sweeping metal ground of this world.

As the great spheres sputtered into darkness, a slow, firm smile spread across the man's face. He turned from the window. Now again those wide shoulders were firmly back. His head rested squarely on the short, powerful neck held boldly erect, an air of ease and enormous agility in his walk. A lightness, almost restraint was in his step.

His hands were working at his face, and in moments bits of wax were taken from his mouth. He worked swiftly at the washstand a moment removing the last traces of the bothersome face coloring, to reveal a lean, tanned face, almost black from the constant exposure to the unshielded sun of space. Next, cumbersome, heavy shoes were removed and the flapping, gaudy clothes. Finally he stood clothed only in a dark, elastic suit, a pair of soft-soled rubber shoes and the dark-green sash and the lavender suspenders, as well as the wrist-watch.

But now with the floppy garments removed any modern man would have recognized his type instantly. The heavy, blocky legs; the short, squat body, tremendously broad of shoulder and deep of chest; the rather long, powerful arms were all typical of the Jovian colonist. Humans who had spent their lives on that huge, heavy planet developed just such blocky legs and heavy arms--and, more, the tremendous speed of motion and agility the burdensome gravity necessitated. Since Jupiter's gravity was two and a half times Earth's, it was now plain why the acceleration of the ship had not bothered him--scarcely more than polar gravity of Jupiter!

His grey eyes were alight with amusement as he thought of the guard his volubility had driven below. Now Donald Barclay, crack lieutenant of the Interplanetary Lane Patrol was safely barred in a room fifty feet above the metal ground in a solid metal building.

Ready now, he strode lightly to the window, and settled his hands firmly on two of the inch-thick steel bars set in sockets, that barred his window. Silently he began to strain, and great muscle sheaths stood out across his back and shoulders. One bar began to bend in, and the other out, and finally he lifted the two bars from their sockets. A moment later he had two more.

* * * * *

He lay the bars neatly on his bed, and stepped to the window. He stepped across the sill, lowered himself to arm's length outside, then jumped out as far as he could as he let go.

Now the fifty-foot fall would be fairly certain death to most humans. But to a trained Jovian it meant merely a thorough shaking up. Barclay landed heavily but correctly, and in a moment he was on his feet once more, running across the lawn in long, light strides.

But a guard had heard the heavy thump of his landing, and come out to investigate. And despite the dim light from buildings, he saw the shadowy figure running across the lawn and fired at it. The twin fires of his beams immediately revealed him more clearly. A second flash--the man stumbled--then was suddenly leaping in wild, bouncing flight. The guard stood dumbfounded as he saw the man jump about like a rubber ball--twenty feet into the air--thirty feet in a long leap so swift he could not possibly track it with his beams. The beams were working once more--and the man was running toward him! Now his beam must sweep wider on each of those insanely incredible bounces--

Other guards were coming at his shout--a half dozen of them--and in that instant the shadowy figure was gone!

The others gathered excitedly about him--where--how--what?

None of them even saw the shadow bounce out of a deeper shadow of a rose-bush. He was just suddenly among them, landing in their midst, apparently falling from the other side of the tiny world. And from some other world he was indeed! Half a dozen places at once, bouncing among them, staying among them so they could not beam him, handling the men like children, till in ten seconds they lay stretched out on the metal path and the lawn.

Then Barclay stooped over them an instant, straightened--and was away. But now he carried four of those ray pistols stuck in the deep green sash.

More guards were coming, but they ran to the crumpled bodies. While they strove vainly to wake the men the Jovian had put out, Barclay disappeared in the dimness.

But the alarm was out before he had made half the distance to the power-house--his goal. Would he reach it to hide nearby before the guard there could establish their cordon?

Above the soft thud of his leaping feet he could hear the cries of excited men. Lights were beginning to flash on here and there about the ground of the power-house, shadowy men were running about.

The power-house loomed low, squat before him, a crouching mass against the surrounding darkness. The tiny slits of the windows here and there showed bright streaks, save where the thirty-foot wall about the buildings masked its lower half. The building was enormous--the power plant of a world of science!

Suddenly there was a warning sputter of light about him, like some diffused lightning--the great artificial sun was waking to life as cold tubes were warmed by rapidly warming generators.

Two--one--he was beside the ten-foot thick wall of solid metal that surrounded the power-house. He tensed his muscles, walked back a way limbering once more, then--up-up-up he sailed, his powerful arms outstretched. With a sigh of relief he grasped the edge of the wall and snapped his body over, dropping on the other side to a tree-spotted lawn. Almost simultaneously with his soft landing the great artificial sun came into dim, flickering life. Shouting, calling men were racing across the lawn toward their posts, looking here and there hurriedly--for none would suspect the runaway could have reached this wall and crossed so quickly.

Darting across the lawn, taking advantage of every bit of cover and blessing that winking, sputtering cold light, Don made for the power-house wall.

Then--he was there. His plan was made already. He had seen the enormous steel grille-work door, protected by heavy protolectric guns and knew he would never be able to enter there. He leaped--his fingers caught in a window-frame twenty feet above him. Then his powerful arms snapped him up against the light, Earth gravity to the next window-slit. Like some weird fly he went up the wall in jumps and spurts. Just shy of the low parapet wall of the roof he listened for a moment. To his ears came mingled, muffled cries--the calls of guards below, the stamp of feet, the dull whirr and hum of huge Farrel atomic generators within the power-house's ten-foot metal walls.

But from the roof--no sound. In an instant he was over, and hidden from the rapidly strengthening light of the artificial sun. He started as a muffled, rapidly increasing thump sounded behind him. A snap, a creak, and a trap-door in the roof opened. Barclay dived suddenly for one of the tiny booths at the side of the broad roof. Inside he found the controls of one of the high-power protolectric defense guns.

An instant's observation confirmed his belief--these guns were supplied by the great generators in the power-house itself.

"Clever," he muttered, "if they are captured, they can't be turned against the plant, and nothing smaller could phase these walls."